When Life Hurts, Does God Listen?

I wasn't originally schedule to teach at Youth this week, but I didn't mind. Teaching is one of my favourite things to do. I love speaking in front of a group of people and sharing the messy parts of my life. And boy, did I bare my soul the other night.

While looking at the curriculum for the topic, I felt uninspired. Part of that could have been because I am wrestling through some other things with God, and I admit I've been rather distracted, making it a bit more difficult to really dive into a topic and get to know it. However, I am familiar with this question, and knew that it was a question that a lot of students have no doubt been wrestling with over the last two years.

Then the more I thought about it and started to work through the material, the more I felt lead to go on a bit of a riff. Not because the curriculum provided wasn't great, but because I knew that these students would have the answer to the main question, "When life hurts, does God Listen?"

If you have ever spent any time around students, you know that the question on the surface is rarely the question they are asking. So yes, they are asking "is God listening", knowing full well that the answer is always, "yes". And the inevitable follow up: "What do you do when life hurts?" Well, we pray! Duh.

But pray what? The Lord's Prayer? "Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub"? We know what prayer is. Most students have spent at least 5 minutes in Sunday school know that prayer is talking to God. But head knowledge doesn't get you far when that same head is full of hurt and frustration and confusion and raging hormones.

So I threw the curriculum aside, and asked the real question that I wanted to know at that age, and was fairly confident they'd want to know it too:

When life hurts, what does it look like to pray, to bring my hurts to God - what do I bring for him to listen to?

And as I crafted that question in my preparation, I knew where to go.

Some place messy and vulnerable and oh, so sweet.

In 1 Kings, we have Elijah, the last of the prophets, making incredible miracles happen. He proves for all of King and Country that his God, Yahweh, was the One True God. The Almighty.

And then he had to run for his life because Jezebel didn't exactly appreciate having her prophets of Baal humiliated and killed.

After all that he has done and been through in the name of the Lord, Elijah is fed up. He's had it. Here he is, the last of the prophets of Yahweh, proving how incredible He is for everyone to see, and he has to flee? What the heck! Isn't his God so great and mighty?! Shouldn't Yahweh be able to step in and get rid of this evil queen? Isn't He supposed to have Elijah's back?

Elijah cries out to God, "I'm done. Get me off this planet. Un-alive me. I'm sick of this."

And after crying out to the Lord, he takes a nap, eats a snack, and is brought to the place where he hears God in the still, small voice.

Centuries before, Hannah has a similar response to the hurt in her life. Her sister-wife, Penninah, has been taunting and tormenting her for years. While Penninah had tonnes of children, Hannah was barren, and heartbroken because of it. Her husband is trying to convince her that he should be enough for her, while Penninah twists the knife deeper with each healthy child she brings into the world.

Fed up with her situation, one year while at the temple for the yearly celebration and sacrifice, she leaves the party and goes into the temple alone. There, she pours out her anguish and grief to God. Her body is wracked with sobs. Splayed out on the floor, crying out silently as to not disturb anyone. But her physical response is hard to miss. So much so, that Eli, the temple priest, asks if she is drunk!

"Not so, my lord, Hannah replied, "I am a woman deeply troubled... I was pouring out my soul to the Lord. Do not take your servant for a wicked woman; I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief" (1 Samuel 1:15-16; emphasis mine)

From there, Hannah went, had a snack, "and her face was no longer downcast" (1 Samuel 1:18).

For both Elijah and Hannah, the end of their suffering did not come because they received the thing they asked for. Instead, it came from pouring out their souls. It came after they were brutally honest with God about their hurt, even when they felt that God was the source of that pain.

That is how we are supposed to pray when life hurts. When everything is going wrong. When family and friends are torn apart because of differences in ideology. When we are two years into a pandemic and on the verge of WWIII. When we can't possibly know what do to next.

That was my reality a couple years ago. Life was complicated, I wasn't where I thought I was supposed to be, and, quite frankly, was heartbroken. More than that, I was absolutely pissed at God. How could he let my life devolve into what it had? This was not what I wanted. Not what I asked for! Nothing was going right for me. Hurt did not begin to describe how I felt.

And I held that inside for so long. Honestly, I was scared to bring it up. I refused to tell anyone how I was feeling, because I didn't want to admit that I had these very non-loving feelings about God. What kind of believer feels like that? Does that mean I am a bad Christian? How can I possibly admit to feeling such things? Isn't that blasphemous or something?

I don't remember what it was that made it click in my head. But slowly, likely by the gentle directing of the Holy Spirit, I started to realize that God doesn't need me to come to him with solutions to my problems before he is willing to listen to me. He isn't restricted to helping those who help themselves. And he sure as heck does in fact allow us to hold more than we can carry.

It was in that place, of admitting it was all too much for me to carry - my hurt, my fear, my pain, my anger, my disappointments, my dreams, my ambitions, my calling - that I poured out my soul, and he listened.

Yes, God is always listening. And yes, when life is difficult the correct answer is to pray.

But I needed more. I needed permission to be completely vulnerable with God.

Shameless.

Ugly crying and using cuss words.

Unfiltered.

And it was there that the Lord lifted my countenance. It was there that I heard his still small voice.

That is, after a nap and a snack.

You see, when we pour out our souls, it is physically and emotionally exhausting. We are processing so much in our minds and our bodies - all the stress that has accumulated in our muscles. The imprints of pain and heartache in our synapses. The act of pouring out our souls is the emptying of self to make room. Room for Holy Spirit to move in our hearts. To clean up the mess we've made. To free us from he chains we locked ourselves into. Chains of shame and condemnation.

God wants all of us. Right here, right now, in this very moment and in every moment that's been and every moment to come. He does not look at us in our mess and turn his nose up at the small. He looks at us with love. All the love in the universe is upon us at all times. But it's hard to see it and harder to hear it when we are drowning in our mess.

The beautiful thing is that the one who looks on us with love, is also the one who makes us clean. We just have to surrender. We just have to pour out our souls.

So this is me, giving you permission to be an absolute garbage pile of a mess before God. You don't need to figure out the the solution before you bring the problem to God. Toss that useless notion into the trash, along with fears of God's judgement, and the lie that you are too screwed up.

Go to a quiet, dark place. Put your headphones on, and listen to some worship music. Pick a playlist and put it on shuffle, and listen without judging your mess. Just listen. Open your heart to the Holy Spirit. Trust that you are loved.

And then wait. There is a song that is going to come on. You may or may not know the lyrics, but your soul knows the message. Your body will recognize the love of your Creator through the words.

And that is when you begin to pour out your soul. One messy, slobbery, snotty tear after another.

Let the Truth of the Word of Life roll through you like a cleansing fire.

Don't you dare hold back. Pour out your soul, until there is nothing left.

Then take a nap, have a snack.

And lift up your face to the still, small voice, whispering, "I'm here. Always. How I love you so."